


Heartbeat

by Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of the Best Buy Incident, Post-Hiatus, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, ghostwriter!Patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace/pseuds/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace
Summary: “I can’t believe you wrote about that night,” Pete grinned against the blonde’s lips, colored a beautiful shade of reddish-pink.Patrick brought his own hands to frame Pete’s face, looking into golden amber eyes, the ones he’s been in love with since that moment on his porch. “How could I not?” He places his hand over Pete’s chest, right over his heart, feeling the steady thump against his palm through Pete’s threadbare shirt.





	Heartbeat

**(2007)**

Patrick leaned back heavily in the passenger side of the car watch the lights flicker by, each one burning out like a match as they flew down the highway just as  another lit up the road and vanished in a blink of an eye. The rhythm of the passing lights, the soft orange glow in the never-ending pitch black of night, enough to want to lull the singer to sleep, but the gentle hand on his thigh was warm and kept him awake. 

In the passing flicker of the lights, he would see Pete’s features as he concentrated fully on the deserted stretch of highway, the way the glow of the dashboard and every passing light illuminated his eyes, the way the would cast soft shadows along his face, making him look younger than he was but also at times, older, aged with the stress of rising stardom, the camera lenses of the world watching every move he made, ready to highlight and display his flaws and mistakes any chance they got. 

They were rockstars now.  _ Infinity _ rising to the top of the charts,  _ Thnks fr th Mmrs  _ also rising on the Billboard 100, and adoring fans all over the world, singing their own songs back to them, filling arenas, selling out tickets…and the world was as watchful as ever.

The world as cruel, the tabloids have proven that time and time again with every jab, every criticism thrown at Pete, remarks aim to degrade and take him down, noting every detail,   but in this light, as they sped down a California highway at two in the morning, Patrick couldn’t see any of the flaws they so heavily picked on when it came to the bassist, only the perfection and the softness of the man Patrick had come to love in the backseat of a beat-up van, facing the world with nothing but childish hope in their eyes and music itching to be played.

They were at a party only half an hour before, filled with hundreds of bodies and nameless faces that Patrick didn’t exactly know, the music pulsing and the alcohol flowing. It was fun, sure, Patrick’s not going to lie, but when Pete had brushed up against him, the sweetest sound of “ _ Baby _ ” ringing so clearly in his ear despite the deafen bass of the DJ’s set, the singer’s heart  _ melted.  _ It was their  own little keyword when one another wanted to get away, when the room was too much to bear, or when they just needed each other to themselves.

Like now. The world could vanish in a blink of an eye, a blur of glimmering city lights blending into the night, and all they needed was one another. 

It was the automatic warmth, the love and safety that came with every time they touched, a spark igniting the gentle fire burning in their chest,  like old-time clockwork, his fingers lacing with Pete’s, the contrast of their skin playing against the backdrop of his own dark jeans, Pete’s warm honey tan against the pale porcelain of his own. .

“Where are we going?” Patrick asked softly, his thumb running gentle swipes around the sensitive underside of his wrist, feeling the raised tendon there, counting each pass of his thumb in time with the matchstick lamps that passed by his window.

_ One…Two…Three…Four… _

“Somewhere where they won’t find us,” Pete replies easily, squeezing Patrick’s fingers. “Somewhere where all we can hear is the static…”

Patrick didn’t question Pete; there was a method to his madness, they had all found out the in early conception of the band, and there were times when it was better to let the bassist do as he wished, and other times to deter him. Patrick knew there were fine lines when it came to when to follow Pete, and when to stop him. It was tightrope  thin, a balancing act between creative and destructive, between genius and foolish. Sometimes those lines were dangerously blurred, but mostly  Patrick trusted Pete more than he trusted himself.

This was one of those times.

“Only static on the radio?” his own voice soft and foreign to his own ears, sleep beckoning him like a lighthouse of the shore, drawing him in closer with every passing light. 

“Yeah, baby,” Pete smiled, his voice light and warm, as if blanketing the boy beside him with just his voice,, Patrick’s own eyes beginning to droop. “Take a nap, I’ll wake you until we get there.” 

Patrick’s eyes drifted shut, the radio soft in the background but the palm in his own warm and anchoring, allowing himself to slip into a gentle sea…

The only noise the hum of the engine and the beating of his own heart in his ears…

He didn’t know how much time passed, but he was gently woken up to the sound of static filling the car, and someone running their knuckles so tenderly against his cheek, Patrick was just about to whisper  _ ‘Don’t stop’ _ when they pulled away, but instead his ears were flood with a warm chuckle followed by the gentle press of lips against his forehead, and then to the corner of his lips, chapped, but warm and familiar. 

“Wake up, baby. We’re here…” came Pete’s velvet rich voice, a slight gravel in it from years of screaming his heart out into a mic in the underground scene. He sounded so close, and Patrick could feel the gentle breeze, and the rustling of leaves…

Where the hell did Pete end up taking him…

“Come on, Patrick, open your eyes for me, babe.” He squeezed his eyes shut and snuggled closer into the upholstery of the passenger seat before his eyes fluttered open. “There’s my Lunchbox.” He was greeted by Pete’s megawatt smile and whiskey warm eyes. The passenger door had been opened and Pete was  squatting down to get at eye level with Patrick, his hand coming up to brush away a wayward lock of cinnamon blond hair tucking it lovingly behind his ear.  He smiled over at Pete, sleep-warm and floating, before looking over the older boy’s shoulder, over at the running river illuminated by the bright yellow glow of the harvest moon, and the flickering green-yellow of fireflies littering the area. There were trees and tall grass, but at the same time, in the moonlight, it looked beautifully breathtaking and tranquil, almost as if straight out of a dream.

“Where are we?” he inquired softly, stepping out of the car, his hand slipping into his own.

“Like two hours north of LA, maybe three. It’s one of those national park rivers,” Pete supplied easily. 

“And static.” Patrick smiled, motioning to the radio in the card, the hum of static drowned out by the easy coursing river yards away.

“Yeah,” Pete sighed easily, pulling Patrick over the tall grass, the stars and the enormous harvest moon their own source of light, casting a calming shade of midnight blue over everything before them. They made their way to a small clearing, right by the river’s side, the quiet of the night and the rushing of the river the  only sound in their own secret world. 

“Pete, this is gorgeous,” the younger of the to two breathed in awe. 

“I’m glad,” Pete grinned tugging Patrick to face him. Patrick easily slipped an arm around Pete’s back while Pete did the same, his palm finding the small of his back as their hands stayed clasped, holding them together, bringing each other closer and Pete started them in a gentle sway.

“Dancing? Really?” Patrick chuckled, a flush dancing on the highpoints of his cheeks. 

“Why not,” Pete shrugged, his own grin never faltering, as he continued their gentle movements.

“We don’t even have music, you dork.”

“We’ll make our own, we always do.”

“What do you suggest?” Patrick asks rather playfully. 

Pete takes a moment to ponder, before gently guiding the hand he was holding to his rest against his chest, right over where he knew Patrick could feel the beating of his heart, resting his own hand over the singers.

“There’s your rhythm,” Pete breathes into the quiet of the space around them as the beating of Pete’s heart thumps against Patrick’s palm.

_ Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump thump _ …

They were strong and steady, almost as powerful as Andy’s kick drum. The beat flowed from his palm into his own body, trying to match the rhythm of his heart, the pumping of blood through his veins, the life that flowed through every bit of Pete’s body, reminding Patrick that Pete’s  _ there _ …

…and also reminding Patrick of the time he almost lost him for good in the empty parking lot of a Best Buy…

He finds himself thinking back to Pete’s mom frantic phone call, begging Patrick to tell him Pete was there in the apartment with him, only for Patrick to reply that Pete had gone out an hour ago, her cry when she tells him that  _ something’s wrong _ and that Pete called their manager and didn’t sound  _ right _ .  Patrick’s a panicking mess as he tries to call his boyfriend’s phone for the thirteenth time only to be greeted by three rings and a voice mailbox, until Mrs.Wentz called him back twenty minutes later from Pete’s phone, tears clear as day in her voice as it drifts from the other end of the line.

_ “Patrick, I got him…he’s not good…I’m taking him to the hospital…he took all his pills… _ ”

He had collapsed in their small rundown kitchenette, clutching the phone to his ear as he cried with relief, and guilt, and anger, askin questions he knew he wouldnt get the answers to. She comforts him as best as she could.  _ “It’s okay, Sweetie, Pete’s going to be fine. He’s breathing…he’s breathing, Patrick…” _

  
Patrick had  only been more terrified in his life once before- when the van crashed into the sea of trees, more than likely killing him if he had not moved to the front seat to snuggle close to Pete for warmth. But that..it was  _ Pete  _ and a handful of pills…Patrick doesn’t think he could ever get over the sight of Pete in the hospital bed, hooked up to a plethora of tubes and machines...

“Hey,” Pete says gently, looking into ocean blue-green eyes. “I’m here,” he breathes, as if knowing what Patrick was thinking about, remembering what happened two years ago when it seems so fresh in his mind. “I’m here, baby.”

Patrick didn’t speak a word, instead leaned in closer to rest his head on Pete’s shoulder, his hand still firm on Pete’s chest feeling the heartbeat strongly underneath, as the continued to sway in time to the  _ thump-thump _ , feeling Pete’s lips against his temple. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, under the soft glow of the moonlight, fireflies glowing around them like lanterns, and the stars shining like crystals in the sky above.

The singer pulls away, just the  slightest movement, looking at Pete in the light, the gentle shadows cast upon his features, the way his eyes still glow and shine brighter than any damn star. Pete looks beautiful, he  _ always _ has.

There’s no need for words, no need for stumbling confessions or loud proclamations of their undying devotion, only the gentle touch of their foreheads against each other with the river running in the background , under the harvest moon… They don’t need words when they would say everything they could ever want in a careful touch of the their lips, the playful nips and the passionate caress of tongue as they let the words flow unspoken between them, the chorus of crickets joining in the background with the soft rustle of leaves in the wind.

There’s no city lights, not flashing cameras, or screaming fans. And if they were being honest, they never needed any of that, just each other, as they swayed to the rhythm they knew by heart, the only music they would ever need…

_ Thump-thump… Thump-thump… Thump-thump… _

_.//. _

**(2015)**

Patrick’s humming along to the song on the radio playing from his laptop when Pete comes onto the bus. He lets himself flop alongside the singer and listens as he watches Patrick type out an important email to someone. 

_ And tonight I wanna drive so far we'll only find static on the radio _

_ And we can't see those city lights and I love the way you look in a firefly glow _

Pete can’t help but smile at the lyrics, even though they’re being sang by the current queen of the country charts, Carrie Underwood, her voice just the right amount for twang with a hint of soul that could be able to do those lyrics justice, to give life to the words… 

Patrick had made a good choice in sharing his song with her.

_ Saying everything without making a sound _

_ A cricket choir in the background, underneath a harvest moon _

_ Standing on your shoes in my bare feet _

_ Dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeat _

“I heard it’s number one on the country charts, Carrie and  ‘ _ Zach Crowell’ _ should be proud of themselves,”  Pete grinned, his voice playful as he rested his head on Pete’s shoulders, hia tone and wiggle of an eyebrow insinuating.

Patrick couldn’t help himself as he rolled his eyes and chuckled. “You know damn well it’s not a Fall Out Boy song,” he said easily. “It doesn’t fit our sound, honestly it fit more of the country vibe than anything.”

Pete grins. “Sure,  _ Mr. Crowell” _ he teases. After the hiatus, Patrick has revealed to him that Patrick had written a lot of songs as a ghost-written for several artists, or they had used his lyrics and ideas and had been credited under several pseudonyms, his real identity a secret to the public.  _ Always shying away from the spotlight  _ Pete had thought fondly _. _

Having more than a few top 40 tracks under his belt, Patrick didn’t give up his writing once the band returned, instead, used his connections to help with several collaborations and dipping his feet into other parts of the songwriter swimming pool  and even in a few genres. Recently, though, he’s made quite a few friends in the country scene.

“I’m surprised you didn’t give first dibs to Kim from  _ The Band Perry. _ ”

“Actually I did,” Patrick  counter, smiling as he thought back to Kimberly Perry and her brothers from their Crossroads Concert “She liked it, but it wasn’t quite fitting her voice, so she recommended I show Carrie. She got me connected with her people and it just took off from here. I’ve helped with the finishing touches, but she got it almost exactly how it plays in my head.”

Pete sat up straighter, leaning over to cup Patrick’s cheek in his hand before bringing the singer into a slow, loving kiss, Patrick returning it with as much fervor as he carefully pushed the laptop onto the other side of the sofa, getting lost in Pete’s lips and the touch of his hand as it finds its way up his shirt, caressing the sensitive skin along his ribs.

“I can’t believe you wrote about that night,” Pete grinned against the blonde’s lips, colored a beautiful shade of reddish-pink

Patrick brought his own hands to frame Pete’s face, looking into golden amber eyes, the ones he’s been in love with since that moment on his porch. “How could I not?” He places his hand over Pete’s chest, right over his heart, feeling the steady thump against his palm through Pete’s threadbare shirt.

“ _ I wanna feel it like a kick drum _ ,” Patrick sings under his breath, as Pete’s hand comes to rest over the one feeling, eyes softening as Patrick continues to sing, just for him to hear. “ _ Beating faster in your chest _ . 

_ Saying everything without making a sound _

_ The river rolling in the background,” _

Pete kissed Patrick forehead, as he closes his eyes, thinking back to that night on the river. And how the night made everything so clear in the tranquil dark, the way they held on to each other and danced to the sync of their hearts under the stars and the fireflies…he hadn’t needed anything more, no money, no fame, no record deals— all they had was them and that was all they truly every needed.

And for Pete to hear Patrick’s words as he recalls that night in a song…it makes him smile and makes his chest fill with so much warmth and  _ love _ . Part of him wishes Patrick would just outright take credit for the song, but he knows him, and knows that Patrick is more than happy to stand in the shadows…

If that’s the case, Pete would be right there beside him, swaying to the familiar rhythm they both know so well.

_ “Underneath a harvest moon _

_ Standing on your shoes in my bare feet _

_ Dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeat.” _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by _‘Heartbeat’_ by Carrie Underwood
> 
> Beta'd by [Flame_and_Jade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade) who was my cheerleader when this fic was just a ramble and she wanted more lol Love you dearest!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and feedbacks are welcomed <3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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